To Conquer or to Fall
by Dailenna
Summary: What if FMA is all a metaphor for something else? Here I have an abstract look at the battles or encounters with the sins. One chapter for each opponent. [Royai in parts, LingFan in others]
1. How Alluring the Light

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** I aim here to reveal the great metaphor each of the 'battles' against the sins are. In this story, when I talk of the seven sins I'm referring to the character traits, rather than the seven we know and love/hate. So let's see what Arakawa _really_ meant when she had characters fight the sins.

**Warning:** Based on the manga, not anime; incredibly abstract idea of who defeated/was defeated by which sin – might be spoilerish, but I've avoided it as much as possible; characters OOC; some AU, some not.

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"**To Conquer or to Fall**" by **Dailenna**

**The First Battle: How Alluring the Light that is On in the Night**

It was late. Very late. So late that the cicadas had stopped buzzing outside the window, but not early enough that the magpies had begun their warbling. Yet he could hear something.

Rather than outside of his window like the _natural _sounds would be if it was a _natural_ time of the night (_Instead of this unholy hour_, he thought, rolling over), the sounds were coming from the other room in his house. A squeak of a chair moving – in or out he couldn't tell – and the scraping of . . . something, on . . . something. You couldn't blame him for not knowing – it was the middle of the night, after all.

He tried to get back to sleep – really he did – but when the squeak of the chair on the timber floors sounded again, he groaned and pushed his hair off his forehead with one hand, and blearily opened his eyes. As he expected, the other side of the bed was empty. He sighed and told himself to get up.

Four minutes later, after he'd finally clambered out of bed, he staggered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, putting an arm in front of his eyes and squinting toward the bright light of the open refrigerator.

"Riza," Roy croaked.

She looked over at him, eyes a mix of mock-innocence and guilt, hand still on the fridge door.

"What are you doing up so late?" he croaked again, coughing to clear his throat.

There was a pause, and even through his sleep-fogged mind he could see her carefully assessing the situation before replying "I couldn't sleep."

Just as she had, Roy also analysed the issue at hand, eyes scanning over the contents of the table. He raised an eyebrow, partly for effect, and partly just to keep at least one of his eyes open. "I don't think that eating . . ." he cast another look at the contents of the table, "_all _of this week's leftovers is going to help you to get to sleep, honey – it's harder to get to sleep on a full stomach than on an empty one."

She shifted her weight to the other foot, hand still on the open fridge door. Without saying anything, she stepped forward, picking up some of Tuesday's chicken.

Roy's jaw clenched. "Did you plan on going to bed on a full-stomach?" he asked, brain suddenly clicking in to the right frequency.

When she didn't reply – _again _– he sighed and padded towards her deliberately. "Put the chicken down, honey. I think that that's enough."

"No, I really am just hungry," she protested, stopping in her tracks. He tried to take the chicken away from her, but she snatched it back. Unimpressed, he gave her a flat stare, reaching for it again. She took a step away. "Don't!"

"Riza," he reasoned. "By the looks of it, you've already had the leftover chilli con carne, Irish stew and lasagne. You aren't that hungry."

Unable to think of a reply, she hesitantly gave him the plate of chicken. He sighed and put it back in the fridge before taking the plates from the tables and placing them in the sink. At least now he knew where all of the food had been disappearing to for the past few months.

Leading her back to bed, Roy sighed. He'd have to keep an eye on her in the future, but at least that would be it for the night. It was hard work helping a recovering bulimic into normal eating patterns.

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**Gluttony tries to conquer Riza, but Roy prevails.**

**Humans: 1, Sins: 0**


	2. How Bitter the World

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** Ta-daa! Chapter number two is written, edited, and posted! Currently, chapter number three is written, but not edited. I need to leave it for a few days before I edit so that I can catch my mistakes, but it won't be too long.

**

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The Second Battle: How Bitter the World of an Inactive Girl **

The young girl looked up at her grandfather with dark, tilted eyes of admiration. As her mentor, he had been the one she spent time with day and night, night and day, for the past years. As he studied the forms of the martial arts so did she, arms arcing and slicing through the air gracefully and slowly. She copied his stance, sliding her front leg forwards and crouching down before lifting her foot over the ground, and slowly using the foot she balanced on to edge around, her opposite toes and heel hovering parallel to the ground.

"Very good," he told her in gentle tones. "Now do it again without shaking."

Determined to get it right she tried again and again, her legs shaking more with each attempt. Beads of sweat cropped up around her forehead as she tried not to fall over.

"Get that look off your face – you are a bodyguard, not a dramatist."

She tried to soften out her frown, and smoothed the snarl out of her lips just in time to hear a giggle from above her. The effort it took to look calm finally overpowered her, and she toppled over, looking up to see who was there.

On top of the wall stood the Emperor's son, and a daughter of one of the Emperor's favourite lords – at least, the man was in favour at this point of time. The girl had laughed at something the Emperor's son had said, and the two were now walking towards one of the palace turrets.

Ran Fan felt a presence behind her, and she looked around to see her grandfather there, watching the young prince lazily. His moustache bristled as he snorted warily, and he glanced back down at the girl at his feet.

"You're not jealous, are you, granddaughter?"

She was taken aback by his question. "Jealous, grandfather? What right have I to be jealous?" She picked herself up from the dirt, brushing the dust from her clothes. "I will protect the young master with my life forever, not dependant on whose company he keeps."

The old man nodded briefly, satisfied with the answer.

"Besides," she added in a mutter, "the girl's father will not be in favour much longer, and then neither will she."

There must have been something in her ears, or a horse from the stables had gotten into the training yard, because that snort of laughter could not have come from her grandfather.

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**Ran Fan recognises Envy in an instant, and spits in his eye.**

**Humans: 2, Sins: 0**


	3. How Sudden the Ring

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** Here we are with the third one. I had a look over it just a little while ago, and I couldn't find any mistakes, but I switched around a few sentences. If you find something that you think might look a bit out, let me know. It's possibly just because I have different spellings for things, as an Australian, but it might be a mistake. Let me know anyway, and if it's wrong I'll fix it, if it's not, I won't. Rightio, here's the third battle!

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**The Third Battle: How Sudden the Ring that Began with a Fling**

"Well," Havoc said, trying to explain to the others in the office, "I was _going_ to ask Sciezska out, but . . ."

Hawkeye chose that moment to raise a carefully sculpted eyebrow, only making Havoc flush further in his embarrassment. Havoc had been trying to ask Sciezska out for the past two weeks, to no avail. She'd finally stepped in and given the man a push, and it seemed that something had happened to get in the way. From Havoc's stammering and flushing, it was less of a some_thing_ else happening, and more of a some_one_ else happening.

Unluckily for Havoc, who was trying to avoid explaining the whole fiasco, Breda seemed to have picked up on that same detail. The larger men leant in with a sigh. "Who was she?"

Havoc deflated. "Justine, in reception."

Feury frowned, tapping one finger on his cheek as an attempt of memory retrieval. "Which one is she, again?" he asked, still thinking.

"You know," Havoc said. "Justine . . ?"

Hawkeye looked up in time to see Havoc making very large lewd gestures in front of his chest, and cleared her throat, eyebrow quirking again.

Havoc paled – he'd forgotten about the whole Hawkeye being a woman thing – and coughed in an attempt to cover up his previous action, now raising his gestures higher, above his head. "The tall one?" he amended.

Not impressed, she tapped her pen against her desk. "And so what about Sciezska, then? Did you tell her, and then go after this other woman, or did you not say anything in the first place?"

He winced, trying to sort through the fog of his mind. "Well, I was about to tell her," he said guiltily, "but then Justine walked past and smiled at me, and . . . I couldn't help myself. She's so _hot_," he finally burst out, before cringing back from the furious retort he expected.

Not one to disappoint, it took only a four second pause – long enough for Havoc to think it was safe and start to ease back – before she replied. "Well, I suppose that's similar to what your ex-girlfriends think when you introduce them to the Colonel," she sniffed, putting pen to paper and getting back to her work.

It was true; there had been more than one time that Havoc had asked, or had been about to ask a girl to go out with him, and a short time later her name was inexplicably written inside Colonel Mustang's little black book, with a date and a place beside it. The man was attractive – even Hawkeye wouldn't deny that – but attraction had its faults when it seemed that woman from all over the town were drawn to him.

His black hair and slanted eyes had always made him appear somewhat different, but rather than being seen as a foreigner during some of Amestris' most trying times, and thus becoming segregated from other people, his muscular physique had pulled him through. There had been more than one occasion on which Hawkeye had had to avert her eyes in order to concentrate on the mission at hand.

As though merely thinking of the man – she wouldn't admit that she was daydreaming – was enough to summon him, he soon wandered in through the door. Hawkeye perked up and made her pen start moving again, taking up from the place where she had drifted off.

He must have caught part of the conversation Havoc, Breda and Feury were still having, because he stopped in the middle of the room.

"You think you're in love with her because she has big breasts?" was the question he posed.

Scowling, Hawkeye looked up again. That stupid Justine woman.

"No," Mustang said. "That isn't love. That's a physical desire."

"Then what is love, chief?" Havoc challenged, chewing on the end of his unlit cigarette. "In your opinion, that is."

Curious, Hawkeye lifted her pen from the page and sat back, also listening now.

"True love . . ." Mustang began, pacing from side to side, considering his words carefully. "Love is painful. Love is . . . wanting to do everything for someone, no matter how they've treated you. Love is enduring every rejection, and still coming back and caring for them wholeheartedly. Love is doing what's best for them, even if it hurts you. Love is the hardest thing in the world, and the requirements seem so high that when you think about it, it just doesn't seem right that someone who loves should go through such pain, but when two people truly in love come together, it's the most peaceful and beautiful thing you'll ever find. If everyone loved each other in this way, there would be no need for it to hurt so much, because every person would be looking out for the best interests of all of the others, and in trying to make things good and right for all, equality would no longer be a thing of dreams, but of reality."

He stopped to look at the shell-shocked Lieutenant. "People over-use the concept of 'love' these days, and it's become such a weary, battered old thing that seems to be all over the place. Love had been forced past its prime."

The room was silent as everyone absorbed his words, each person stiff and surprised that a man who was seen with woman after woman could hold such a strong idea.

With one last glance at Havoc, he frowned. "Be glad for yourself that you do not love," Mustang said eerily. "Pity others because you don't know how."

Hawkeye watched, as still as a statue as Havoc ducked his head down back to his work. Her gaze flickered towards the Colonel, who had turned, and was now heading for his desk. He caught her eye and gave her a weak smile that made her heart jolt, before sitting down, now looking stonily at his paperwork.

**

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Lust cripples Havoc and distracts Hawkeye, but eventually gets burnt to the ground by Colonel Mustang.**

**Humans: 2 ½, Sins: ½**


	4. How Quick the Mind

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** Here's the fourth one! It's Greed and Ling (which a few of you very cleverly guessed at), but sadly it's the last of the Xing ones. After this we have more looks at the military people, and the sins yet to come are in this order: Wrath, Sloth, Pride. Enjoy!

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**The Fourth Battle: How Quick the Mind Searching only to Find**

The young prince held his place stiffly, arms by his side and back straight. He was lined up among his many other siblings to listen carefully to the Emperor's every word. He didn't know how many of them there were – he couldn't count each of them, and he certainly didn't know the names all of his brothers and sisters – because, as the Emperor, his father had many wives. Many wives and many children.

Ling was one of the handful of children that the Emperor knew by face, rather than not at all. As a male, and as the son of one of the primary wives, he was higher in standing than most of his half-brothers and half-sisters. As such he had gained much, and as such he had much to lose.

The Emperor sat plumply on his chair, holding a colourful handkerchief to his face when he coughed loudly. The foot crossed over his opposite knee bounced up and down as he addressed his many children.

"You will have heard stories of my health," he told them with a casual glance over them all. "I assure you that I am by no means about to die. Rather I intend to live for a long time yet." The pallid shade of his face told a different story.

Concerned for his father's health, Ling stood dutifully, hanging on to every word. This was no simple assurance that the Emperor would live. Perhaps he was planning on announcing his successor now, despite the usual tradition of emperors to wait until they were upon their death bed. If he announced a successor now, there was the possibility that that son or daughter would have the Emperor killed, so that he couldn't change his mind.

Ling himself wasn't mercenary enough to have the Emperor – the man he had been serving under for his whole life – killed, like it was some offhand action, but an announcement of that size could change people.

The Emperor coughed into his handkerchief again and continued on. "As my children, it is your duty to serve me faithfully and honestly. To carry out my bidding will bring you great honour."

For the Emperor to say that was the equivalent of any other man saying that they would pour riches and titles upon the person who completed the task given. Ling's ears perked out eagerly.

"You will go out into the lands," he drawled, waving a limp wrist towards the Great Desert, over which were exotic countries where people had hair and eyes of colours never seen in Xing. "You will find for me the thing that I desire, and the person – the _one_ person – who brings it back will be rewarded."

If possible, Ling thought he could feel each of the children and young adults around him straighten up in anticipation. He knew that he was standing taller than he had been to begin with, and surely they must be too.

The Emperor leant forwards, his eyes glinting. "I want for you to bring me the secret to gaining immortality."

After that, they were told to pack their bags and go begin their searches. Ling took the opportunity to pay a visit to the training yards.

"Ran Fan."

The girl's eyes flew open, having been disturbed during her meditations. "Young Master?"

He gave a grin. "The Emperor has made a request of his children, and now you and your grandfather must accompany me so that I may find his desire first."

Accepting the demand instantly – it was her duty to do so – she bowed. "Of course, Young Master. I will alert my grandfather immediately."

As she turned to leave, Ling gave an involuntary laugh. Eyes wary, she turned to look back at him. He shrugged and relinquished his knowledge. "The Emperor longs to find the secret to immortality."

She appeared puzzled, as though fighting between merely accepting her duty and asking what was on her mind. Finally she opened her mouth. "Don't you also, Young Master?"

Ling paused, surprised. He thought about it for a moment, frowning. "I suppose I do, but it is not merely for my own sake that I search – I search so that the Emperor may be pleased."

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**Ling and Greed eke out a symbiotic relationship.**

**Humans: 3, Sins: 1**


	5. How Vengeful the Boy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** Looky, looky! It's the fifth battle! I was especially happy with the way that the line just above the "score" turned out in this one, because it _totally_ works on both levels - yay! At least, that's what I think. Just a small one here, too (not intended to mirror the subject himself, just a lucky coincidence).

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**The Fifth Battle: How Vengeful the Boy when Sapped of all Joy**

Edward strutted towards the office, report under his arm and his brother following close behind him. There was nothing Mustang could say went wrong in this mission – it was executed to perfection: no mess ups, no stuff ups, no problems at either start or finish. All in all, it was a miracle.

Alphonse slowed down a little just outside the Colonel's office, casting wary glances at the closed doors up ahead. "I think I'll wait here, brother," he said, finally coming to a halt.

Uncaring, Edward shrugged. "I'll be back in a minute, then." He continued on into the next room, his strut becoming a swagger as he became more certain that Mustang had nothing on him for once, and he might actually come out having given the older man a piece of his mind without receiving an earful in turn.

That hope was shot down the second Mustang looked up.

When Edward first entered the room, Hawkeye stood over Mustang, waiting for him to finish signing one last form before she could take it to get filed. When the slip was signed and passed along to the blonde, Mustang looked up and saw Edward approaching. His mouth twisted distastefully, and he waved the hand holding his pen in the direction of the boy.

"Take care of that for me, will you, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye and Edward exchanged bemused glances. Finally the woman stammered out a confused reply. "You have to listen to Edward's report, sir."

A frown crossed the Colonel's face, and Edward stopped right in front of the man's desk, arms crossed and report still in his hand. "Yes, yes," Mustang said. "Let me know when Edward gets here. In the meantime . . ."

Hawkeye looked stonily at the man before gesturing matter-of-factly in Edward's direction. By this time, Edward wasn't feeling quite as pleased as he had been earlier, and he waited impatiently for Mustang to stop being an idiot. Unfortunately the man wasn't done.

He looked in Edward's direction, and suddenly a gleeful grin appeared on his face. "Oh, _Edward!_ I didn't know that was you – I thought a bug must have crawled into the room."

"_Who are you calling so tiny his shoes are grains of sand!?_"

Hawkeye let out an unimpressed sigh and left to go file the document she was holding.

With a smirk insolent enough that it would probably cost him his life soon enough, Mustang raised his hands innocently. "Well, if the boot fits . . ."

"You're just bitter because your eyesight's fading, old man!" Edward shouted.

The older man's eyes narrowed. "Just because you're minor in both stature and age doesn't make us taller, older people senile."

"Not necessarily, but it doesn't seem to have slipped you by."

"Everything must slip you by when you're that small-"

"_Who are you calling so microscopic that old age couldn't hit him if it tried!?_"

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**Wrath has an undeniable hold over both Edward and Roy.**

**Humans: 3, Sins: 2**


	6. How Slow the Eye

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** Well, most of you should know that I have two Olivier fics already (a one-shot and some drabbles), and here we have the first time I've integrated Olivier into a series. Well, it isn't like a real series (more like a group of one-shots), but still, now I've done everything except a proper long series with her. I don't think I'll try that unless I get some _really_ good inspiration, though.

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**The Sixth Battle: How Slow the Eye to the Death-like Lie**

Olivier Milla Armstrong was known for her industry. Not content with sitting about and waiting for things to come to her – despite the fact that in time they would anyway – she was the woman who would cleave her own path through any jungle, forest, or snow-covered mountain.

Having forced her way to the top through sheer will, she was well known for her strength and her courage when under attack. The only retreats she had made were purely tactical in nature, and were usually followed up by a distinctive defeat over the enemy forces.

As such, Major Miles was surprised to find her slumped over her desk one day, blonde hair falling across the paperwork she had been about to sign. As any concerned subordinate would do, he rushed to her side and tried to wake her, hoping first that she was still alive, and second that he would be still alive at the end of this.

First, he tried to wake her by talking to her.

"Major-General Armstrong, are you awake?"

Obviously not – she didn't budge an inch.

Second, he tried by ordering her.

"Wake up!"

Her eyelids didn't do so much as flicker.

Third, he tried by shaking her.

Tentatively, he put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently, and then not so gently.

Her shoulder rolled back into the same lolling position it had been in before.

Miles paused, unsure of his next action. He couldn't kick, hit or yell at her – none of those were suitable for a man to do to his commanding officer. He couldn't hug or kiss her – neither the Major-General nor his own wife would look kindly upon that. He couldn't pour water on her – she'd freeze in the icy Briggs air. He couldn't set her on fire– . . . there was no need to explain the drawbacks of that.

Finally, a dreadful thought occurred to him. With an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, he moved her hair aside and placed two fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse.

He jumped back in surprise as Major-General Armstrong leapt to life. She pressed the button on a device she held in her hand, and looked down at it, pale features taking on an imperious air. Miles gritted his teeth and tried to slow his heart from the steady hum of beating it had taken on when she scared him out of his wits.

"It took you one minute and thirty-four seconds to even check me for a pulse, Major," she told him, not sounding at all impressed. "If I had been dead, the chance of reviving me would have been severely decreased. Do you not realise how serious this is?"

Unsettled, Miles' expression didn't change. "I realise that it is very serious, Major-General. I'll make an effort to remember to check your pulse next time."

She nodded royally, still looking at the brand-new stop-watch. "Very well. You may collect my completed work and go."

Miles strode over to her desk to pick up the few sheets that had been signed before the Major-General had decided upon her ingenious plan. He didn't let out his irritated sigh until he closed her office doors behind him.

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**Olivier captures the very essence of Sloth for her own means.**

**Humans: 4, Sins: 2**


	7. How Eager the Heart

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .

**Notes:** How sad - this is the last of the seven battles against the sins. With this one I didn't have much to go by (having had only one encounter, and no actual battles), but I made use of what I did have. This is actually related to my story "Such is the Sport of Soccer" - it's two years earlier in that timeline, when certain troubles just began. I don't _think_ it gives spoilers in any way, but it does make reference. You don't have to have read the other story to be able to appreciate this one, but it gives you a little extra knowledge, that's all. So ends my series, in which I aimed to reveal the great metaphor each of the 'battles' against the sins. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers - even if I didn't reply early on, I don't think I've missed anyone. Thanks again, and please read my other works!

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**The Seventh Battle: How Eager the Heart when Tempted with Art**

Leaning against the gate, Riza waited patiently. She hadn't been there for a long time yet, and could still be waiting for anywhere between two and twenty minutes. Hopefully she wouldn't have to wait that long, but she was there nonetheless, aware of the time but not really minding.

Another woman approached slowly, a friendly smile on her face. She stopped by Riza's side, watching for a moment before talking. "You have one here?"

Nodding, Riza looked over wistfully towards the brick building inside the gate. "She's five – just started Year One."

The other woman's smile grew bigger. "Isn't it amazing how fast they grow? Mine are actually a bit older, so they're over at that one," she said, pointing at the regular high-school across the road. "I just don't like waiting by my own, so I thought I might come and chat."

Riza stifled a smile. She was glad for the company, but didn't mind being alone at times. It was a lot more comfortable than the tense air that had developed at home. Still, she decided to keep the conversation going. "How old are they?"

"Sixteen and fifteen – both boys, but more precious to me than any daughter," the woman told her, smiling through her eyes more than her mouth.

"That's all a matter of your own opinion," Riza said quietly, wondering what it would be like if quiet little Addy was replaced by two older, louder boys. She didn't think she'd be able to stand it, except she supposed that she would have been older and had more experience with children if they were that old.

"Of course," the other woman laughed. "I suppose that every woman thinks her own child is the dearest. Such sentiment seems only natural."

Mollified, Riza eyed the woman curiously, noting again the way that her eyes gleamed brightly with every toothpaste-commercial grin.

Hands held patiently in front of her, Riza began contemplatively. "In the past year – since Addy's been at school – I've noticed the tendency of most mothers to complain about the faults their children have," she noted, "but when the bell goes and their child comes to find them, no matter how artistically devoid the child's drawing, the expression on every woman's face seems to say that that page of scribbles is superior to every other scribble in the school."

The other woman gave an amused laugh. "Then I suppose that you're no different, when it all comes down to it?"

Riza paused, remembering the eight different scribbles stuck to the corkboard at home. "No, I suppose I'm not."

Somewhere in the high-school a bell sounded loudly. Riza and the other woman both winced, and when the noise finally stopped the other woman gave an apologetic smile. "I should head over to find my boys – the eldest gets impatient when they have to wait around. It was nice to meet you . . ?"

"Riza Mustang."

"Nice to meet you, Riza," the woman smiled, starting to walk away slowly. "I'm Trisha Elric. Maybe I'll see you another day."

Riza smiled and nodded. "Maybe."

When a few minutes later Riza had Addy's hand in her right, and the picture-of-the-day in her left, she shook her head, realising just how right her own observations had been. It had taken less than ten seconds for her to give the scribble four different types of praise, and now as they walked out the gate, she could barely restrain herself from asking her daughter how her day had been.

The little girl was the best thing in her life, and she knew it.

**

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**

**As subtle as it may be, Pride's stranglehold on Riza is still there.**

**Humans: 4, Sins: 3**

**Humans may have lost some battles, but they win the war. Eventually.**


End file.
